Page 3 of Broken Instrument

It’s Hawthorne.

The guy who almost turned Broken Vows down but extended an invitation to tour with Organized Chaos after I begged my father, the infamous Donny Hayes, to intervene. Without him, Hawthorne would’ve never caved and given Broken Vows another chance after I screwed everything up by almost missing our audition ‘cause I was too busy getting shitfaced at home. I guess it’s one benefit to having a rockstar as your dad.

The irony isn’t lost on me since it’s what screwed me over in the end, anyway.

Regardless, my dad stepped in and convinced Hawthorne to give us another chance. Without him, my brother wouldn’t be living out my dream with his girlfriend by his side. And even though I’m happy for him, it doesn’t stop the bitterness from flooding my mouth.

It should’ve been me.

Sucking my cheeks between my teeth, I look over my shoulder at the shitty band playing a cover of Aerosmith and go back to staring at my untouched drink.

“I keep telling Chuck to stop hiring the wanna-be's, but I guess not everyone’s Broken Vows, huh?”

I scoff and drop my chin to my chest but stay quiet. Chuck’s the owner of SeaBird and is one of the most supportive bastards I know. If it wasn’t for him, Broken Vows wouldn’t have had anywhere to perform and would’ve never wound up on Hawthorne’s radar. Not sure it matters anymore, but––

“How’ve you been?” Hawthorne prods.

Without bothering to look at him, I mutter, “Fan-freaking-tastic. You?”

He pauses, though I can feel him looking me up and down. “Better than you.”

I glare at him and turn back to my untouched drink.

“You gonna drink that?” he asks.

Tearing my gaze from the alcohol, again, I twist on my seat and demand, “What are you doing here? Are you checking on me or something? My dad send you?”

“No––”

“Coming to hear the local bands?” I wave my hand toward the stage but don’t look. I can’t. Not again. It’s too much. The reminder of all I’m missing. All that was taken from me. No. All I let go because I was too weak to control myself. Still, Hawthorne’s presence brings too many memories and emotions to the surface. I can only handle so many. Then I’m left more itchy and raw than after my encounter with the girl in the bathroom. And my self-control is only so strong.

I clear my throat and get to my feet. “Are you trying to find the next big thing? Don’t let me interrupt––”

“I’m here because Sammie needed to do some inventory before we could grab takeout.”

His response makes me pause.

“Sammie?” I push, mentioning Chuck’s daughter and the favorite bartender at SeaBird, who I was surprised to not see pouring drinks when I’d first walked in.

“Yeah. We started dating when I came to check out Broken Vows the first time.”

“Oh.”

I hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, I asked Gibson about you the other day. He said he hadn’t heard from you.”

Aaaand, there he is again. My brother. The golden boy.

I shrug one shoulder and reach for the glass, my thumbnail turning white from gripping the thing too hard. I let it go and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. My gaze remains zeroed in on the shot glass still within reach.

“You’re not going to hook up with them for the end of the tour?” he presses, leaning onto his elbows to get a better view of my blank expression.

Again, I stay quiet, but my jaw’s tight.

“Does Gibson even know you’re out of…?” He clears his throat and drops his voice low. “Last I heard, you were still…on hiatus. Does Gibson know you’re home?”

“Doesn’t matter. He should be focusing on the tour.”

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